


THE THRILL OF TRANSGRESSION

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ailing marriage. Chakotay and Kathryn are drifting further and further apart. They keep separate beds and separate rooms. What is a man to do? It's desperate times as Chakotay considers an offer made him by a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	THE THRILL OF TRANSGRESSION

**Author's Note:**

> First written in 2006 and inspired [very loosely, I daresay] by a 1969 movie starring Omar Shariff and Anouk Aimée.
> 
> Mary, for the wonderful beta.
> 
> Disclaimer - Paramount owns Janeway and Chakotay.

"It's a smooth, exclusive club in a hell-hole, designed so that no one is likely to discover by building it where no one would go. You'll find a companion and enjoy a night of passion with her without being detected. No one's ever come back dissatisfied or unquenched, if you get my meaning?"

"Yeah, I get it. Loud and clear." 

"You know the deal, Warrior. Get in - " Lordd guffawed at his own joke. "Yeah, get in, stay in. Those bitches, they got metal clamps where their - "

"Okay, I get it, Lordd. Now give me the coordinates."

"Which come complete after full payment of three bars of latinum - "

"Three!"

"You're a Federationist. They pay more. Your tattoo... seen it somewhere. High up in the Federation, I guess. Saw you earlier getting off the transport. Like your out-of-uniform get-up. You look mighty out of place in a dump like this, touring for sex. What's your name again?"

Chakotay grabbed Lordd's collar, the leathery skin under it hard and lumpy. His fingers dug into the lumpy protrudrance. Lordd was a hybrid Telorian-Bikar, with large mandibles and a lizard-like skin. Lordd choked on his spit, the saliva spraying Chakotay's face. Chakotay grimaced as he wiped his face with his free hand, then pulled Lordd closer, their faces mere centimetres apart. 

"I thought we agreed - no names," he spat at Lordd.

"Okay, okay!" the Telorian complained as Chakotay released him and he fell back against his seat. The sudden movement caused Lordd's head to snap back. But Chakotay wasn't finished with him. He leaned across the small table and glared at Lordd.

"Now, the coordinates."

"Four bars of latinum." 

Chakotay scraped his chair hard against the floor as he rose to his feet. Lordd had just upped the stakes. 

"No deal - "

"You want a good fuck in the middle of nowhere where no one knows your name, your rank, your breed, your colour. No one cares. No one to run home and tell tales. No one. Your wife won't even smell that you've been in the royal suite of Club Hoy making love to the highest paid lady all through the night and well into the next day. So, what's it to be?"

"What's it to be?" Chakotay repeated. "I think I'd better go back the way I came."

Lordd's hand covered his, pulled him down to sit on his seat again. None of the other patrons bothered them. Chakotay knew this kind of seedy joint where it was easy to become anonymous. Even here, no one had recognised him except Lordd, the hybrid Telorian. What was he thinking? 

Nothing was good between him and Kathryn anymore. The spark was gone, simmering and then sputtering until it died. Kathryn didn't look like she cared and he... Chakotay sighed. He was a man, and the desire, the urge to bed his wife was as strong as it had been when they married. Forget that he'd slept with Seska and Seven and a few other aliens on their long journey home. The moment he made love to Kathryn, he was ensnared by her. They'd married and it was very, very good. Until the baby. 

"There was a baby, you said?"

Did he just voice that thought? 

"It died before it was born. Long before it was born."

"And now you're going to fuck a good lady in the pleasure suite of Club Hoy?"

"My wife never got over it."

"And now you're going to fuck a good lady in the pleasure suite of Club Hoy?" Lordd repeated, then snorted in disgust as he held out his hand to receive his latinum. 

Chakotay realised he had come this far, too far to turn back. He was itching, the strain of repressing his sexual urges becoming too much. He hadn't slept with Kathryn in months and... He gave a sigh of defeat. She wasn't letting him near her. The last month they weren't even sharing a bed. He wanted her and he knew she wanted him, but the moment he initiated any kind of contact, Kathryn died on him. 

It was no use. He had heard of Club Hoy from a disgruntled looking Andorian and heard of the women who charged exorbitant fees for their services. He was going to travel to the perimeter of Federation space to get laid. He had to get his head read. But already he felt the burn in his crotch, the secret, thrilling anticipation of impaling himself on a good lady and losing himself in her generous depths, even if it cost him twenty bars of latinum. Already, just getting the coordinates was a mission with a prize.

"Yeah, there was a baby. Why the hell am I telling you this?"

"Because I can be your comfort and joy?"

Chakotay bent down to retrieve his bag from the floor and dug into it. 

"Here. Four bars of latinum. You come with a high price."

"The right prize for the right price. I just love my job."

"Job?"

"So, what happened after she lost the baby?"

"What's it to you, you moron?"

"Oh, just something I noticed. You don't look like the type to cheat on his wife. Why, did she freeze up on you?"

The next moment Lordd was lording it on the floor of the bar. The other men and women were only momentarily distracted before they continued with their own business, drinking and gaming. Chakotay pulled Lordd to his feet and plonked him down on the seat again.

"The coordinates."

"Fine. Here it is," Lordd said stiffly, rubbing his massive jaw with one hand. With the other hand, he threw a small PADD on the table. Quickly, the same hand swept the latinum away from Chakotay's grasp. Lordd smirked as he looked at Chakotay. "You've been my most difficult customer, did you know that?"

"After this," Chakotay hissed, "if I ever see you again, I swear I'll kill you."

"After this, it won't be necessary to kill me."

He remembered the smirk on Lordd's lizard face as he made his way out of the bar and headed for the transports again.

*************** 

Chakotay shrugged as he boarded the dilapidated transport vessel. He was on a scavenger hunt, it seemed. Scavenging for sex. He shook his head in miserable denial. He had hit rock bottom. Lordd had cost him. The man came at a price. Fours bars of latinum just for the coordinates, and who knows what he had to pay for a night of sex? He had been told by the first contact to prepare for twenty bars. He had to sell his thoroughbred horse and trade his small runabout to a seedy looking Ferengi who had fallen out of favour with the Ferengis. Between them – the seedy Ferengi, the first contact and then Lordd – they'd cleaned him out. 

All because he wanted a good night of sex without being seen or detected, without feeling guilty. His guilt had already melted away in the face of Kathryn's withdrawal from him. She made it easy. He had tried to understand. He'd tried to understand 'til he was blue in the face and soft in the loins and heavy on the unrequited passion. 

"It's not working, Kathryn," he said one morning as he stopped her from rushing out to her office at Headquarters.

"I asked that you understand."

"I'm trying, trying my hardest. Every time I come close to you…"

Her eyes sparked, then subsided, looking like she was in pain. But that moment was over too soon. The anger returned quickly.

"I lost my baby, Chakotay – "

"Our baby. I mourned too."

"Please, I'm going to be late for work. We'll talk again tonight, okay?"

"You're punishing me, Kathryn."

"I asked for patience…" Her words trailed as she reached the front door of their apartment.

"It's been almost a year! We sleep in separate rooms. How much longer do you want me to be patient?"

Kathryn had given him a stricken look before she vanished through the door. When evening came, she had withdrawn into her melancholy, frozen state again. She was afraid of being pregnant again, had wanted the baby with a disturbing kind of obsession he felt was uncharacteristic of her. And when she lost it, the devastation he knew she'd suffered was much, much deeper than he realised. 

It was one of many nights in which Kathryn promised they'd talk and it ended in him slamming his bedroom door and hearing her muffled cries in the adjoining room. 

One night he had gone to her and pulled her into his arms. She had been warm, feverish, had clung to him like a lost little girl, had talked incessantly of the loss of their baby. But her softness, her incredible warmth had gotten to him, springing free the memories of their great lovemaking, nights in satin sheets and entwined bodies, the smell of their sex, the unbelievable sense of freedom and peace after they made love…those all came back to him. They speared right into his brain, sending messages – alarm bells – through his body to wake up and touch his wife. He had tried to resist the onslaught of those messages but they kept coming and before he knew it, he was aroused, his shaft thick and hard and so sore that he had given a cry of pain at the knowledge that he couldn't unleash his sexual tension on her…in her… 

But he'd tried. It was impossible to hold back, to refrain from touching Kathryn. He had given a moan of surrender as he pulled her tighter in his embrace, his hand cupping her breast, his mouth seeking her skin everywhere – her mouth, her forehead, the hollow in her neck, the spot behind her ear that always triggered delicious little keening sounds from her. Long, long moments in which they sought one another hungrily, their cries mingling. He found her softness, the tuft of hair he always liked to fondle. Those sounds came, came, went. Kathryn's legs clamped, her cries became cries of alarm and within seconds she was cold.

He had disgraced himself when he ejaculated. Humiliated, he had walked back to his room, sticky with his semen, a beaten man still hearing her apology ringing in his ears. 

It happened three more times after that night. Then he had given up like the coward he was, too afraid to comfort her again when she cried herself to sleep. Night after night, he had gritted his teeth as he lay in his bed hearing her cry, wanting to run to her to comfort her and then resisting the temptation to get up and do so anyway, even if it meant he'd ejaculate outside her body. 

Sighing, he studied the coordinates in his cramped cabin on the Lyra, the dilapidated transport that would rendezvous with another vessel from which he would hire a small shuttle. No names were asked; only latinum spoke louder than identification. He hadn't seen Kathryn in three weeks. She'd given him notice of her short mission in deep space. These days he wanted to imagine he didn't care anmore where she went or what she did. She clearly didn't want him in the same bed with her. Clearly.

He was never going to divorce Kathryn, even if he never slept with her again. He loved her, but his body was pulling him in a different direction, one of betrayal of trust. Lately he and Kathryn had gone their separate ways. He'd seen her in the company of other men and she'd simply shrugged when she saw him in the company of a female captain. He hadn't bedded the female captain. Now it seemed easier just to keep drifting apart, with Kathryn adamant that she didn't need counselling, that if only he were patient, she'd welcome him between her legs when she was ready. 

"A year is too long for a man to go hungry," he muttered to himself as he tried to make himself comfortable on the narrow bunk. 

Two weeks ago, he had mentioned to Kathryn he wanted to go away. He had a month's leave due to him. He had been frustrated to the point of wanting to leave Kathryn, his hunger reduced to a lingering throb in his loins. He was tired of lying in his bed night after night thinking of making love with her. He was tired of cold showers that did nothing but fan his unrequited urge until, in great anguish, he'd grip his shaft and work it into a stormy release. For once, Kathryn had been roused from her apathy when he mentioned he was going to vacation alone, somewhere where he could spend a month on an archaeological dig. 

"You're going away? Alone?" she had asked that morning when they breakfasted together.

"Alone. Why am I bothering these days hoping my wife would accompany me and share my bed?" he asked, being a little spiteful, not blinking when she winced at his tone.

"Chakotay…"

"I frig myself in the shower, Kathryn, but I doubt if that's any news to you."

"I'm so - "

"If you want to accompany me, you sleep with me."

An ultimatum levelled at her angrily. He was tired of waiting. He saw her weighing his words, the indecision followed by a sigh, one echoed by his own hopeless expelling of breath. 

"I see. You're not ready."

"I want to be. You don't know how much I want to be. Perhaps…"

"What?" he asked, suddenly eager again, his heart hammering.

"If I just… Oh, forget it. You go and have your vacation."

She had gotten up from the breakfast table, having eaten hardly anything, and was gone before he could say anything more.

Three days later he was sitting in Sandrine's in Marseilles. He had frequented the place during the last few weeks, sometimes meeting Paris who snorted, smirked, then got on with flirting a little with Sandrine while B'Elanna was off on a comet, or something. Paris would play a round of pool with him in silence, have his drink, salute, then leave without saying a word. 

Occasionally a young Academy cadet entered then scurried out again as soon as the hapless young student saw him. No doubt the faceless cadet would soon describe to his fellow cadets in juicy detail that he'd seen Professor Chakotay sitting alone and drinking and how everyone knew things were bad between Admiral Janeway and her husband. If they talked, it didn't matter anymore. 

He and Kathryn were teetering very close to the precipice of divorce. Let them talk! The first couple of the Federation going nowhere slowly. What a laugh!

That day, Sandrine's hadn't been too busy and he could tuck himself away in a corner where he'd sat with a PADD, studying the destinations he had downloaded the previous day from the Federation database. He was going to find a place far away where he could be so busy digging for artefacts he wouldn't think of Kathryn too much, or frig himself into a frenzy of ejaculations. Kathryn had been gone a week already. It had dawned on him that he couldn't miss her, although he knew that he loved her still. He couln't be bothered if she closeted herself with someone in a jefferies tube on a starship. As they'd drifted apart, so his conscience had gradually allowed illicit behaviour to control him. Though, he'd admitted to himself, he'd never slept with another woman. He still wanted to release himself in the generous cavity between his wife's thighs. 

"Hey…" 

Chakotay had looked up into the face of a tall man, a disgruntled looking Andorian.

"Yeah?"

"Fancy a fuck in a Federation outpost?"

The words had been so direct and coarse that Chakotay choked on his breath as he lost himself in their alliterative sounds. 

"You don't pull your punches," he replied as he got his wind back. He left the Andorian standing. He wasn't in a sociable mood and he felt as if the man had just punched him in the gut. 

"Like I said – "

"Yeah, I know what you said."

"What is it to be? You look like you could spice up your life some," the Andorian said with no inclination of wanting to sit down anyway.

"Sure. I'm going on vacation."

"It's very, very discreet. You go there, fuck some, then come back playing innocent with a great desire to return to willing flesh…" 

The way the Andorian had spread his cards on the table, the temptation had already begun to eat into his resolve by the time he had finished his persuasive wheedling. 

"Willing flesh, huh," Chakotay had said, playing along.

"They call it the thrill of transgression. Always better if it's illicit, especially if the price is right."

Chakotay had wondered if the Andorian was into alliterations.

"I have no argument with that." 

"There's a contact on Ilderim II. Don't know his name but you must mention the word 'contact' as your password. He'll point you to another contact who'll sell you the coordinates of a great place."

"You know this place?"

"No. It is a security precaution. No one other than the person who goes there will know. All you have to do is get to Ilderim II, see the contact and whisper the password."

"Why go to such lengths?"

"Because it is discreet. I believe a few high ranking Federation officials frequent this er…fucking place."

He had left the Andorian standing. The man looked like he wasn't finished. His eyes had glanced to Chakotay's left hand. A smirk formed. 

"No one will know," he urged in a coaxing tone. "It's very discreet and highly respectable."

"Why me?" Chakotay had asked, wincing inwardly at a brothel being respectable. 

"Because you wear a ring and you're sitting alone with Antarian cider. Cider is to be shared with a woman, a wife. I see no wife. So, what's it to be? I like to be of service to the...unserviced..."

"I know Ilderim II vaguely," Chakotay had said slowly, his brow knitting together as he began to consider the stranger's words. His being had begun to fill with the thrill of transgression, just as the Andorian had suggested. He had never given it any thought before, but already his body swayed to the seductive sweet-talking voice of the Andorian.

"Go. You will return a good man. Good to go…"

Chakotay guffawed. 

"A good man, indeed. I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long. It might addle your brain and freeze your balls."

*

Now on his way to Padmos with the coordinates given him by Lordd, Chakotay was looking towards his mission with great anticipation. Kathryn didn't seem to care anymore; they were both doing pretty much what they liked with their lives. They lived in the same house, sometimes attended concerts together; they attended functions, dined at fancy restaurants and no one really knew that they weren't fucking. At night they came home and went to their separate bedrooms. Sometimes he could hear Kathryn cry. He had hardened himself against trying to comfort her after so many times when he had been blown off. He couldn't help it. Every time she was in his arms, he was hard. If he didn't humiliate himself by spilling his seed on the sheets, he showered until his body couldn't stand the cold anymore.

These days he accepted that she wasn't going to cave in soon and 'be ready' like she had promised. Her initial rejection had been born of fear that she might lose another baby, and that fear had eaten into her to the point where it had become easier to let the problem drift into indifference. Now it had become second nature to turn down his sexual advances. 

Any counsellor would have told her that. 

The spirits help him, he'd tried to be understanding. He had felt the loss of their baby just as keenly as Kathryn had. But Kathryn had needed comfort first and when the comforting was done, she had gone into cold regression mode. 

So much for comfort. Kathryn and cold comfort. Why was he suddenly thinking of the Andorian and his alliterations? 

After a seven hour journey on the dilapidated Lyra with its equally dilapidated looking captain, and after trying to get a nap on the uncomfortable hard bunk in his minuscule cabin, they were met by the alien vessel. He had been promised a small shuttle to continue his journey to Padmos.

An hour later and minus three bars of latinum just for hiring the shuttle, he was on his way to bed a woman he had never seen. 

He thought of the Andorian's words in Sandrine's.

It was the thrill of transgression. 

** 

For a moment, Chakotay wondered if he had come to the right place. The planet's atmosphere was so charged that it made effective scanning impossible unless he took the shuttle down to the surface. Only then could he track the location using his tricorder. 

"Lordd, I hope you weren't lying to me," he whispered to himself. "I've come this far. Might as well do the whole trip… If you were lying, I'll personally rip your mandible from your face."

After touching down on what he thought were crude landing pads, he felt a sting when he left the shuttle as an ice cold wind whipped up and frosted his hands. He looked around him. There was no first city to speak of, just a series of small towns that seemed to huddle together for warmth. 

"Damn, it's cold…"

He studied the coordinates carefully. Club Hoy wasn't visible from anywhere. He understood now why it couldn't be detected when he had been in orbit. Even without the planet's ion storms, it would have been difficult to locate the place. It was why Lordd's coordinates came at such a high price. The establishment was subterranean, with a house or habitat situated above it. It was the only conclusion he could come to. A fancy club for dissolute sex tourists would be kept out of sight anyway. Lordd was right. Not many knew of this place. It was for high ranking, high paying customers looking for the best in sexual satisfaction. Those customers formed a little clique of silence, an exclusive society that never shared their wares, indulging in a kind of in-breeding with their hostesses that made his insides crawl. That was what his second contact - he of the password 'contact' – had told him. 

So Chakotay walked through the dark towns until he came to the place, the exact point of the coordinates Lordd had given him. 

He reached the entrance to the house, a front, he realised when the owner nodded wordlessly and led him to the back where there was a sunken door, the only way that he could describe it without actually calling it a trapdoor. His heart began racing and already he was breathless. He turned to look back and saw the owner of the house had disappeared as soon as he had shown Chakotay the sunken door. 

The moment he stood on it, it started to move down like a lift, which led to a series of dimly lit tunnels. He followed a crude trail of stones until he came to another entrance. He didn't have to announce himself. The door slid open silently and another man stepped forward from the depths of the cave into the dim light given off by torches braced against its walls. 

Again, no words were spoken as the alien, looking a lot like Lordd, nodded and promptly began walking, careful not to step on the stones or kick them away. Chakotay followed him down another long, weakly lit tunnel, passing several entrances along the way. When the alien stopped at the second last entrance Chakotay almost banged into him. 

The alien turned to him and held out his hand. Sighing, Chakotay dropped a bar of latinum on the man's palm. When he looked up, the man was gone, disappearing just as silently and suddenly as he'd appeared at the first entrance. 

Now Chakotay was on his own. There were no further distractions as he passed cautiously through a doorway which led into a small foyer where he came to yet another door. This time the door had a metallic panel, shiny as a mirror for the entire length, different from the other entrances he had passed through. 

He looked at his hazy reflection and took a deep breath. He shut away feelings of guilt. Now was not the time to get cold feet. 

His heart thundered. Inside was the woman he'd have for the night. He had no idea of her race, only that she was there, behind the door, waiting for him. Inside, he would lose himself in the depths of someone he had never seen. Inside, he was going to transgress like never before. His pulse raced. His body was already warming, despite the cool air that circulated in the tunnels. There was a buzz in his ears. Kathryn was pushed behind the door of his conscience. She didn't care any more. He could do what he liked. She could do what she liked. No more ethical and moral considerations of wedding bands and vows. He realised grimly that he was still wearing his wedding band, one Kathryn had given him, made by the inimitable Chell, the Bolian. 

Nothing mattered anymore. He was suddenly fired, the adventure of the night upon him. He was geared to become erect within seconds of seeing his hostess. 

He jumped when a voice came from the depths of the room, a silky voice that sounded muffled, yet sexy...

"What is your name?"

He blinked. Lordd had assured him no names would be asked. He hesitated a few seconds, drawn to the mysterious voice that teased his conscience before shrugging. 

"Chakotay."

"Remove your clothes, Chakotay."

"Here?"

He was still standing outside the door, his body on fire. With a sudden start, he realised the panel was a one way mirror. His hostess could see him. He couldn't see her. 

"Do it now."

Again he hesitated; she had him at a disadvantage. Slowly he undressed, a little reluctant because he was standing outside the door. His old Maquis gear fell off his body - the leather jacket, the fawn sweater, the belt that made a noise as the buckle hit the hard stone floor, the d'k tagh he carried in a sheath strapped to his boot leg, the boots and finally, his dark trousers and boxers. Was the woman into kinky sex? he wondered as he stood naked, the cool air doing nothing to lessen the heat of his body. He grimaced. His penis bobbed erect the moment he pulled his trousers down. The woman's voice drew him in, sucked at him like a limpet. His reflection appeared over eager. Tall, bronze body, black hair with a little gray, tattoo and a ramrod stiff cock.

He couldn't hear any other sounds in the tunnels and he gave a sigh of relief that no one appeared to be watching him except the lady inside. He looked down at his cock, erect and so hard that it trembled with the slightest movement he made. 

"I see you're aroused," came the seductive voice. "Good."

"Yes," was all he could muster.

"You have twenty bars of latinum?"

He closed his eyes, hoping that the small pack he was carrying wouldn't get stolen with his clothes lying outside the room. 

"Yes," he breathed again. 

"Now, when you enter, you do not speak, is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Come."

The door swung open.

**** 

He became aware first of the fragrance of roses.

Then he saw her. He had to remind himself not to speak so his nails dug painfully into his flesh.

She lay on a king sized bed strewn with hundreds of red rose petals. They were everywhere, the petals. On the floor, the pillows, her hair, her legs, the shell-like headboard of the bed making her look precisely as if she had, like Venus, emerged from a sea of red roses. The fragrance caught him, drifted towards him and entered his body. He was drunk. He knew it. No, not drunk. Ensnared, drugged senseless by what he saw before him. 

There were burning candles on stands; the flickering flames threw dancing shadows on the walls.  
Bemused, he gazed as she crooked a finger and beckoned him to come forward. Forward to the lily white body that lay starkly contrasted against the red petals and what he realised belatedly were black satin sheets. 

His heart hammered, a painful thudding against his ribs as he moved slowly forward, his cock bouncing with ever step he took. She moved like a snake on a warm afternoon, unfurling lazily, her eyes heavy-lidded, smouldering...

He thought of her as a snake, a Medusa, or a red-lipped siren, anything and everything that ever lured a man into its lair and kept him prisoner. Her hair fanned about her face, one arm raised above her head in abandon, that made the word wanton seem impossible to define. It was just a picture, a picture speaking a thousand messages and welcomes and assurances. His eyes, once glazed, became wet at the open invitation of his picture, the wanton woman in her bed of roses. She lured him with unashamed attentiveness and invitation. The urge to speak to her or cry out was so great that he bit hard into his lip.

"Take the edge off your hunger," she commanded. "Now..."

His tongue was thickened, dried and stuck to his palate. He wasn't supposed to speak anyway. The raised arm, in snake-like motion, reached for him.

He was lost. This wasn't happening and it was happening. That much he could only sense.

She lay, her legs spread, one knee slightly raised. Sighing deeply he joined her on the bed. Motion and thought synchronised into a single entity, one which required no instinct, no forethought. He moved from the side of the bed where he had been standing in total bemusement to slide into her in one silent, swift motion, just as she had commanded. He didn't fill her, was his reeling thought. She moulded her sheath around him, closed tightly, hugging, hugging with no intention of releasing him, millions of tentacles sucking his cock into her. That was the sensation. Her heat covering his heat. 

No foreplay. No introduction. No words.

Yet he felt as if he had lain in her arms, enjoyed foreplay, whispered seductive sexy words as his body joined with hers, long before he entered her. 

Just movement. He thrust wildly in her, like a thoughtless animal acting only on blind instinct, her legs spread wide, his pubic hair grazing her skin, his hands cupping her breasts. Her hands gripped the pillows for purchase as he shaved her skin with his own. He groaned, grunted, moaned, cried out loud when her legs clamped his waist.

He was on fire. His penis drove deeply into her, filling her to the hilt, pulling back before pounding hard into her again. He rocked over her, hardly aware of his sounds that filled the room, or her sounds that echoed his own. 

She was wide open for him. Rose petals began clinging to his perspiring body and the smell invaded his senses. Long he thrust into her, breathless and choking until he felt the colossal wave begin to overpower him. Suspended for a while on the crest of the wave, he eventually plunged from it, unable to contain the overwhelming emotion, the sweeping desire and endless pleasure that rocked his body in new waves of ecstasy. With mind-blowing joy, he spilled in her, his body at first rigid before he climaxed shatteringly. 

When he collapsed at last, he lay over her, breathless, exhausted for a few minutes. She hooked her legs around him and her arms joined all the petals in covering him. When he could regain his breath, he slid out of her. He was still hard as a rock, he realised with wonder. He looked into her eyes. Unable to stop himself, he clutched the sides of her head and kissed her with open-mouthed, breathless pleasure, and their breath mingling as lips found lips, found teeth, tongue, the need to score the other's flesh for release of the extreme, pained pleasure he was feeling. The joy later spilled from his eyes in tears he knew not that he had. Finally, his hunger only minimally abated, he released her mouth, to stare at her with wet eyes.

Emboldened by his lust and her obvious enjoyment, he slid down her body, his lips and teeth  
grazing her skin. With great greed, he latched on to a nipple and sucked the aureole, the taste and sensation so intoxicating that his brain stalled, then burst into bright light where he hovered dangerously on the edge again. The lights settled into dimness before he became aware that he was still sucking, feeling her caressing hands over his hair, his shoulders, fingernails digging as her body arched with the intense pleasure he was giving her. Awareness brought a new taste of petals in his mouth as he released her nipple to chart a burning trail across her stomach. He found the hollow of her navel, rescued a rose petal that clung there, taking it all the way down to her centre, sticky with his semen and her own moistness. 

With great concentration, he began licking at her, chewing the petals or just nipping her folds, finding every tiny morsel of her soft, moist core a great treat. She gave little cries of pleasure. His tongue worked, worked until he pushed a petal or two into her sheath, only to wiggle them out again. Her body began to heave so he pinned her thighs down with his great hands, enjoying her helpless writhing as he found her pink, hard nub and teased it into waves of pleasure. She tried to arch and couldn't as his mouth kept her prisoner. Her fingers laced into his hair. He felt no pain as she pulled and cried helplessly when she climaxed. He slid up her body, his cock impaling her even as she screamed in pleasure.

They made love all night in mindless wonder as she milked him, drawing every seed from his body with aching bliss. 

In the early hours of the morning, exhausted, he fell into a light slumber. 

When he awoke, he had no sense of time or place, only of being. 

She was gazing at him, her leg comfortably over his, her finger caressing his nipple. She shifted to lie on top of him, her palms cupping his cheeks. Then she dropped a feather-light kiss on his lips. 

He was still too dazed to think about what had happened. All he knew was that his semen had spilled into her more times than he could remember during the night and that his tears had spilled all over her creamy breasts and face and her hair, wherever he could bury his face against her. There he wept.

He cried for what they'd lost. 

He cried for what they'd regained. 

He couldn't speak. Only stare at her as bemused as he had been the whole night through, from the moment he had entered the room stark naked and seen her lying on her bed of rose petals. Her eyes were filled with love, with wonder, with the joy of their lovemaking, with the absolute conviction that her fear had fled forever and in its place came the strength he'd always known she had. He also sensed when he entered the previous night and recognised her, that she had planned it all along. There would be explanations, but that could wait.

He waited.

When she spoke, it sounded like music from the heavens had joined the softest of clouds that had come to rest on his body. 

"My love, my life... Happy anniversary, Chakotay." 

 

*************** 

END


End file.
